


In Your Heart Shall Burn

by hitsuaya



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Jacob and his fucked up indoctrination tactics, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, they deserve their own tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-09 06:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitsuaya/pseuds/hitsuaya
Summary: Montana. Big Sky Country. The Treasure State.People got a lot of names for it.Rook also has a lot of names for it, but most of them shouldn't be repeated in polite company.And now there are zombies, and it honestly shouldn't even be a surprise. This is Hope county after all.





	1. Chapter 1

Montana. Big Sky Country. The Treasure State.  
People got a lot of names for it.  
Rook also had a lot of names for it, but most of them shouldn't be repeated in polite company.  
  
Oh he wasn't always this bitter about Hope county. Not that long ago, he was just a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed city dweller, who wanted to escape from the people, the smog, the trash... But mostly the people.  
  
Hope county looked like the perfect place; an idillic, sleepy county, where nothing ever happened.  
  
It would have been great if Sheriff Whitehorse had at least dropped some hints about their local cult problem, so Rook could've made an informed decision about moving there, but no.  
  
His plan was simple:  
  
Step 1: Move to Hope county  
Step 2: Work as a deputy until he figures out what the fuck does he actually want to do  
Step 3: ???  
Step 4: Profit  
  
Of course, back then Rook had no idea that the whole world was ready to go to hell in a handbasket, and that the universe may be out to fuck up his life specifically.  


* * *

  
  
Waking up always felt like a chore, in his whole life, but man, did this really just take the whole fucking cake.  
  
He is slowly blinking, trying to understand what his tired and burning eyes see, but his whole body hurts in a really bad and fairly alarming way and it's a bit distracting. He should be thankful, for being able to wake up at all of course, but Rook was always one of those people who knew there are many things that are worse than death.  
  
Finally, he can see clearly, but his eyes still burn painfully at every blink, whether from tiredness or from dehydration is anybody's guess. There is a sheer, rocky mountain side directly behind him, and there are treebranches reaching over his head, the leaves dancing in the light breeze.  
  
He'd find it all very beautiful if not for three very important reasons.  
  
No, make that four.  
  
He is lying on his back, his whole body feels like a bruise and he is not even sure if he'd be able to stand up. The thought makes his stomach knot itself into a throbbing ball of anxiety and not for the reasons most people would guess. No, his anxiety is because one very specific man, and his morning water distributing ritual. It's fairly simple.  
  
Everybody who is able to stand up alone, with their own strength, gets a bottle of water.  
Everybody who is able to stay standing on their own, after someone helped them up, gets half a bottle.  
Those who can't do either? They fight for the left what's left.  
  
That Man always leaves a couple of knives in deceptively close looking distances, but Rook quickly realised that that's just bait and trap; if you don't have enough strength to stand, the energy you lose trying to reach a blade is a waste you can not afford.  
  
Those who didn't loose in this round (because there are no winners among the trash) get a surprise; it could be a whole bottle of water, your literal only chance to get back up from the bottom of the litter; it could be that you get a quick, painless bullet right into your head.  
  
Surprise!  
  
Rook only once sunk low enough to be part of the trash, and That Man made sure that he would never forget the moment when he was there. He burries that memory a bit deeper every day, builts another wall around it, in the hopes that it will stop haunting his waking moments. He will work at it until it's burried so deep, he will be able to feel like the man he was just four short months ago.  
  
Deep down he knows he will never feel like that man, ever again.  
  
Oh and what happens to the weakest of the trash? That Man decides if they get to go back to their cage and live another day... or if they don't.  
  
So this is the first reason, and in a sane world this reason would not even exist, but let's be honest; Hope county wasn't sane in the last four months, not once, and if someone would ask Rook, it never was. It just pretended better.  
  
The second reason is a bit more normal; he knows that the state of his body is bad, and it just gets worse every day. The interesting part is that in the past he genuinely took pride in his appearance, but after this month he'd be willing to actually permanently disfigure himself if it'd mean he gets unlimited acces to water and food. Hell, he'd do it just for the water.  
  
His throat feels like an open wound. It's dry enough that when he tries to swallow he has to hold back from moaning in pain.  
  
He knows that the food and drink restrictions are there for a reason, to make him dependent on That Man, to connect him with the good feeling of being fed. It's all about the subconcious, unfortunatelly, which means that him knowing all that means shit in being able to resist the effects.  
  
Of course by now most of his obvious rebelliousness got stomped out mercilessly. That's why he got so distressingly skeletal; the most effective method to silence agitators is to simply starve out the fighting spirit from them. If their body slowly tries to eat itself to just keep going, no one will have the energy to even think about escaping.  
  
And he actively works on not thinking about his injuries.  
  
He wasn't able to stand up on his own after the last time he had to run the maze. And when yesterday that man threw him into the gauntlet once again, he was half convinced he won't be able to complete his objective, and the thought of death hovered just at the edge of his mind, even while he was in his alternate mindset.  
  
He can't even remember what kind of damage he took, and that worries him in some distant way.  
  
He slowly tries his limbs, and when he is able to move everything the relief he feels is powerful enough that he almost wants to cry, he is so overwhelmed.  
  
Of course he doesn't do that; he only got half a bottle of water the day before and the maze has a way of pulling out everything from you. He doesn't have the luxury of crying.  
  
Well, at least he is not paralysed. That's a relief. From a point of view. From a different point of view it means he has to fight through another day and if he'd have the energy for it, Rook would get scared about the way death looks more and more enticing as the days go by.  
  
He should try to sit up.  
  
**~~(Know your limitations!)~~**  
  
He moves slowly, with the methodical movements of someone who knows exactly how to test for strength and how to test for injuries without toppling back down to the earth, where he'd have to start the whole thing from the beginning.  
  
There are no wasted movements and today it seems like the universe is throwing him a bone; he manages to sit up without falling back down. He is breathing harshly, trying to push down the pain and take inventory of his injuries at the same time. Some kind of rib problem, definietly, and his left shoulder took a bad hit, or maybe an actual bullet. He knows there is a knife wound on his face, near his left temple, but as he didn't lose an eye, he will not complain.  
  
These are the most pressing problems; his whole body might be blue and purple after what it got put through (by his opponents and by himself equally), but these are the ones that he will keenly feel during the day and the ones he has to defend and compensate for.  
  
And knowing that, he finally feels himself ready to turn to the third reason for his growing amxiety; he is definietly not in his cage.  
  
In his mind he knows that this should be a good thing, but he just spent a long time with That Man, and deviation from estabilished patterns always mean trouble. Most of the time the trap is carefully hidden, but with That Man everything is a test and there are landmines all around you. For this reason Rook stays still, trying to gather a bit more strengt from his nonexistent reserves. Because most of the time you were safe until you looked; that was the time to take stock, strategize and ready yourself, because there is no way that this will end well for you.  
  
Your only job is to try to minimize the damage.  
  
You can not prevent it.  
  
When Rook finally looks up, his face is blank and placid like the surface of a mountain lake. His eyes slowly take in everything and even when he starts to suspect that this is, in fact, not a test, the nagging uncertainty of 'what if' doesn't let him relax his guard.  
  
He tries to think of a reason why that man would let him go free, and there is no explanation that ends with "-and Rook lived happily ever after, without any crippling psycholigical issues."  
  
Except...  
  
He stares at the fourth reason why he is still worried and tries to understand the situation.  
  
Of course he heard the sound of messy eating as soon as he woke up. For most people sound is the first sense that comes back online, but it wasn't his most pressing problem; sometimes cultists liked to eat in front of the cages.  
  
Those who begged or lashed out, got punished, and sometimes, those who could rein themselves in the best, and gave no sign of their misery, got to eat from the cultist's food. Rook was only given reward by That Man, so he doesn't even bother to play the game. Most of the time he just turned his back on the spectacle and tried his best to go far, far away in his mind.  
  
But he isn't in the veteran center, and he isn't in his cage, and that is definietly not a cultist.  
  
He finally remembers from where was the sheer rock wall familiar; this is the bottom of Devil's Drop, the place where he rescued some Whitetails in the past. The memory feels like it happened years ago, although he knows he couldn't have been That Man's guest for much more than a month.

He is sitting on solid rock that is looks dull red from the slowly drying blood all over it. There are bodies around him, four others that look like ~~**(meat)**~~ failed subjects; those that couldn't take the first bliss infusion.

The problem is the fifith... thing. It vaguely looks like a man. A very diseased man, but a man nonethless. It's skin is a nausiating grey, tinted with yellow, and it looks... weird, less solid than flesh should look like. The holes that dot it's skin are even more alarming. They slowly but without stopping ooze an almost see-through yellow pus that soon after it leaves the pulsing sores rapidly dries into a disgusting crust.

These qualities, while very disturbing, wouldn't have been enough to make Rook lock up in slowly mounting panic. It could have been an ordinary, although very, very sick man.  
  
Except it's eating one of the corpses.

That in on itself is not panic worthy; in the last four months Rook saw a lot of things eat a lot of corpses in lot of different ways.

Most people don't bother to clean up the bodies of their foes and if their faction don't hear about the place where their people died, the corpses often just... get left where they are. The cult also likes to leave some of the more creatively killed people as an intimidation tactic; the crucified bodies on the side of the road are especially inspired in Rook's opinion.

Very Old Testament.

So it was not just the fact that it was eating a corpse that gave Rook pause, it was more about the manner it did it; it ate without any thought, planning or clear preference. It teared out as much flesh as it could before stuffing it all into it's mouth.

It wasn't eager for the next bite, it didn't savour the meat or grimaced when some piece of the corpse's clothes got into the next bite. It also moved in a distinct way, almost mechanically.

And the last clue that there is something seriously wrong here are it's wounds.

There is a sizeable chunk completely missing from it's left side, and Rook is thankful for the tatters of the bright neon visibility vest that blessedly covers up the worst of the injury, but it's visible flesh actually looks rotting.

Rook refuses to think about zombies, or the walking dead or anything similar, because the bubbling panic is already scratching the inside of his skull, trying to get out, and panic is the deadliest enemy of all.

Panic is the mind killer, and without his thoughts he is just a half starved man with multiple moderate and three severe injuries.

Without his mind he was simply ~~**(meat)**~~ dead.

He could almost feel the strain as he holds onto his rational mind with a death grip. His thoughts are faster, but he can contain this, and he will contain this. He pays no mind at the way his breath starts to speed up and how he can't quite calm it back down, or the alarming way his fingers start to go numb, in the first signs of a settling in shock.

He quickly looks over the other bodies, but he already knows there will be no weapons or anything useful left on them; that would be wasteful, and That Man is a lot of things, but being wasteful isn't one of his faults.

Except if you are talking about human lives of course.

It's harder and harder to keep focused, to force his thoughts back to the present and it's the sign that he absolutley did not manage to push the shock reaction back down, nay-

He wants to grip his tigh to try and center himself, when his right hand touches something that is both alien and familiar. It's the knife he was given when he was trained by the Chosen and That Man. It's 8" long and black, so the glint of the metal doesn't give away his position.

It's in a similar sheath in style as That Man's and that used to leave a bad taste in his mouth no matter how much he started to get attached to the tool. Now though? The relief actually feels physical, and is enough to let him wrestle his panic and shock reaction back a bit.

Of course it is just an 8" blade, not a gun, not even a machete, but holding a weapon in his hand, when a few moments ago he tried to find a sharp rock to use? He is very grateful to have this blade with him, that's all.

The next necessary step to stack the odds in his own favour would be standing up. Thankfully there is enough adrenalin in his blood now to make his various injuries seem trivial, and he knows he has to make use of the momentarily boost; he draws his legs under himself and with one fluid movement pushes himself upright.

His ribs groan in protest, but he manages to bite back the actual sound, to not give away any potential weakness. He stands, a bit hunched, partly to provide more protection to his sides, partly to give a bit of relief to his smarting ribs. His knife feels really small in his hand, especially when the thing finally manages to notice him and slowly turns his face to stare.

It's eyes are just as empty and without emotion as it's face, and the whites look almost black, there is so much blood pooling there. The stare stays fixated on him as the thing stands as well, and while it's smaller than Rook, it is still heavier, even with it's missing parts.

Now that it stands, Rook can also see that it's left leg seems to be in an advanced stage of decay, but it's still putting it's weight on it without showing any pain... which should be simply impossible.

Rooks heart is in his throat and the way his hand is shaking is not reassuring. The unhurried way the thing comes for him is worse than if it had run at him, there is feel that it could walk for thousands of miles, one shambling step at a time, without stopping, just to get to you.

Panic is the mind killer and shock makes **meat of us all-**

It's hard to admit that he won't be able to reign his panic in, and much harder still to acknowledge the only viable course of action that doesn't end with him making a stupid mistake, driven by fear.

His mind eases into the mindset that Jacob Seed spent the last month installing into his head, and it's easier than breathing.

He widens his stance the slightest bit and starts to barely noticeably sway from side to side, putting his weight from one feet to the other, calculating the best path to attack. The world narrows down into the thing and him, nothing else matters but the hunt. At the next slow step he grows still, takes a deep breath, the white noise in his head drows out everything else, and one more breath, and-  
Just as the thing lifts it's good leg to take one more step, Rook throws himself forward without hesitation. The thing is too slow to react when Rook steps into grabbing distance for a moment, before twisting sharply to the right and kicking it's rotting leg hard, below the kneecap on his way. The decaying limb loudly cracks as the bone is forced backwards before breaking.

It immediately collapses onto it's remaining good knee and before it has an opportunity to react, from it's left side Rook steps closer and without hesitation stabs his knife into it's temple. It's flesh and skull is curiosly soft, and the knife sinks to it's hilt without any difficulity, and there is enough momentum left, that when Rook jerks it to the side it slids cleanly out, leaving behind a neat line that bisects the thing's forehead.

It's bloody eyes turn almost comically up for a moment, bulging out of their place, as if it want's to see the wound, before it collapses face down on the ground with a wet, organic sound.

Rook slowly backs away from it until his back hits the rock wall. He can't turn away from the thing as he slowly comes back from the part of his brain that That Man carved out in his image. This thought forces him to grind his teeth together so nothing could try to escape from behind his lips; not the scream that has been trapped in his throat for weeks, not the urge to dry heave from the disgust he feels towards himself for voluntarily sinking into that mindset...

And he especially does not want to voice the word that echoes in his head, in a voice that sounds almost as natural in his mind as his own; ~~**Excellent**~~.

 

Rook tried to deal in a rational way with this newest fucked up bullshit Hope county heaved out on to his plate, he really did. He stayed, staring at the corpse for more than two hours, and desperately tried to hold together his remaining sanity. He finally convinces himself that the best revenge on That Man would be to keep on living without breaking in half under the weight of the last month.

The sun just starts to go down and paints everything in red and orange when he finally feels stable enough to get back up and do something.

He spends ten minutes searching through the ~~**(meat)**~~ dead whitetail's clothes, in the off chance that there was something useful left on them; he doesn't except anything, but a map or a lighter would be a big help to navigate the Whitetail Mountains injured and without any gear whatsoever, so it's worth trying. But of course That Man wasn't one to waste things, and the bodies were stripped clean from anything useful.

At least the monotone task gives him time to prep himself for the next one. He very pointedly doesn't think the world zombie. He refuses.

First he turns the body on it's back with some sturdy fallen branches and then he crouches near it (well out of grabbing distance, just to be sure), to look closely at the thing's skin, it's eyes, he even opens it's mouth with a stick. Of course Rook - while he picked up a lot of new skills since the Reaping began - isn't a doctor, but he tries to memorize every really strange detail and symptom that would be of interest for someone who actually knows something about human biology.

He's determined to do this as clinically as possible and he doesn't call it a zombie, and definietly does not think with slowly mounting panic about how some of the thing's blood and other fluids got on his hand and the knife when he took it down.

He also very pointedly does not think about the way he lapsed back into the mindset That Man carved into him.

He figures if he'd let himself get emotional about even one thing, everything would just shake into pieces, so he maintaines his grip on his sanity with sheer stubborness alone.

He is calm and methodical in his study of the thing, and like a heavenly reward for his controll; it has some useful stuff in the pockets of it's trousers.

The first find is a torch that makes the fast approaching night time seem less intimidating.

The second is a driver's license and he stares at it for a minute before doing what he always did best; compartmentalizes it deep, and moves on.

The third useful item from the thing is a compass, and if Rook was correct and he is in fact at the bottom of Devil's Drop, then he can use it to get to the F.A.N.G. center relatively fast. The resistance there was at least semi familiar with him a month ago, se he's reasonably sure they would help him out even on a loan.

The last thing is a half full water bottle.

His throat immediately closes up when he finds it and he is only just able to stop himself from gulping it down on sheer autopilot.

This thing, person, it, he, whatever, was obviously very sick. With something. That might be infectious.

He stares at the water as it seems to sparkle in his shaky grip - and thinks about letting it go.

He could drink this water, and he knows with absolute certainty that it would be heavenly. He could swallow it all down in a dozen measured sips that would feel like ambrosia on his tongue and like liquid balm for his parched throat.

And after that?

He should probably just stick That Man's 8" gift into his own brain - but would that really be such a bad thing? No more thirst. No more gnawing hunger. No more body where there is always a new place to hurt. No more Seeds to poke at him, at his body, at his mind, at his soul, trying to herd him into a direction of their choosing. No more resistance that tries to mold him into something different too, but "for the greater good", and that makes it alright.

And no more Hope country where everything and everyone goes insane in different ways, but in the end it all becomes this shared, interwoven madness.

He stares at the bottle, his eyes blank, before he takes a deep breath, opens it, and then pours the whole thing on the blood stained rocks.

  
The sky is deep indigo when he looks at the bodies and the thing one last time, and then he takes a deep breath, glances at his compass and starts walking. He has limited time to do this journey without water, and as he gets into a doable rhythm, he isn't even aware of it when he murmurs a few words, almost as a comfort;

~~**"Watch your time."** ~~

 

* * *

 

Rook was right; with the help of the compass and his own stubborness he makes it to the F.A.N.G. Center in less than 18 hours.

He has to spend more time than what he'd like proving that he is who he says he is, and in the end the thing that convinces everyone is Cheeseburger's euthanistic greeting that almost sends him sprawling onto the ground. Rook knows that he should contact Dutch and Eli and some of his Specialists too, but he goes and takes an almost two hour long shower instead.

He steps under the spray, opens his mouth and drinks and drinks and drinks, too fast and too much, but he doesn't care, he needs to let go, just for a moment. And so he drinks until it all comes back up again in violent heaves.

It's the first thing that felt completely real in the past weeks, and it's glorious.

His second attempt is more controlled, less greedy and desperate, and when he manages to hold it down, he moves on to actually have a proper wash, the first one where he is in control in almost a month.

He silently weeps when he finally sees the whole magnitude of the ruin That Man sculpted into his body, and he forces his hands to be gentle, even if all he wants is to tear all the mementos out of his skin.

  
It's easy to ignore the looks when he takes his light meal and two large water bottles to Cheeseburger's pen. He sleeps on hay, curling up in a sleeping bag, with a gigantic, smelly grizzly bear right next to him.

It's the best sleep he's had in months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's easy to ignore the looks when he takes his light meal and two large water bottles to Cheeseburger's pen. He sleeps on hay, curling up in a sleeping bag, with a gigantic, smelly grizzly bear right next to him._
> 
> _It's the best sleep he's had in months._

That one night is the only time the universe allows him to try and pull himself together a bit more, into a person that is more similar to the one he was before, into something more sane, into something more than the jagged pieces he became.  
_(And one night is just not enough.)_

He almost kills the man who comes to wake him. After... everything, when he wakes to someone leaning over him, it's automatic to kick their leg from under them and go for the throat. The honest fear in his shout is what jerks him out of the half-dream, half-memory of running gauntlet.

The people in the maze were either hateful or monotone; the only one half mad with fear was him.

He is sitting on the man's stomach when he comes back to himself, and the knife in his hand almost touches the soft underside of the man's jaw. He is heavier than Rook, especially this new Rook, who just enjoyed That Man's hospitality for a month, but he clearly only just managed to halt the attack long enough for him to come to his senses.

"What the fuck, man?"

Sorry - Rook wants to say, but That Man's voice is too clear in his head **~~("Disappointing")~~** and the impotent rage he feels traps the apology behind his teeth, and something drastically different comes out.

"This place might as well be an active war-zone and you are going around waking strangers by leaning over them?" his voice, deep from sleep sounds like the growl of an animal. "Next time just do everyone a solid and take a swan dive onto beton, got it?"

He stands up, and for a moment thinks about helping the other up too, but the panicky way he crawls backwards to put a bit of distance between them clearly shows that it wouldn't be well received.

"Eli is on the radio and wants to talk with you" the guy's voice is still slightly embarrassingly high, even as he starts to calm down after getting out of stabbing distance. "He says it's urgent."

Of course it is.

With one last dark look Rook turns around and goes to the bathroom; after the last few weeks he resents the way this feels like an owner ordering his dog to heel.  
Eli can wait while he takes a long piss.

 

As he picks up the radio, Rook honestly feels a stab of panic for a moment about what he should say about his little training camp with That Man - but as it turns out he vastly overestimated how much Eli actually cares.

"Deputy? It's Eli... Just checking in. Nobody's seen you in awhile. Whitetails could really use your help out there."

Rook is so astonished, that for a moment even the constant raging chaos in his brain grows quiet.  
Well. Okay then.

"Two days ago I found a... person. It was eating the body of one of Jacob's victims."

"What?"

"Yeah. It was also very...diseased. Most of it's flesh had this really weird spongy texture, there were multiple sores and wounds on it's body... I'm pretty sure it was rotting on the inside too, with yellow pus coming out everywhere."

"What, Rook, slow down-"

"It was eating a body Eli, and when it saw me it was obviously very interested. I killed it, but left it there, you should send everybody who might have something useful to add, anyone who knows literally anything about biology. It might be contagious."

"Jesus. Yeah, alright, I'll send someone, but Rook, you know this sounds crazy, yeah?"

The joyless bark of laughter sounds wrong even to his own ears.

"No more crazy than literally anything else that happened in this goddamn county."

Eli doesn't answer immediately, and while he waits, Rook tries to think of people he knows who may be useful. Sarah Perkins is of course the first person that comes to mind - the woman is obviously competent, clearly knows her stuff, and was much more dependable than Doctor Lindsey.

She also never gambled with his life before clearly telling him the odds, and in this new and insane world Rook really likes that attitude.

"Rook? You there?"

"Yeah."

"I'll do what I can, but you know that this is an unsecure chanel right? Anyone could've heard this."

Like that's a problem.

"Good. The more people know about this new crazyness, the less will die from it."

"If the Peggies-"

"Then some Peggies won't get eaten, what do I care?" Rook closes his eyes and pushes his hand to them, hard. "Sorry. Long week. Month. Maybe a long year."

"Alright. Anything else?"

Rook hesitates for a moment longer before continuing. "I went through it's... his- there was a driver's license. It... He was from Missoula."

"...Rook?"

"It only had four things on him; a torch, a compass, the driver's license, and half a bottle of water. No one here would pack that light for anything, even if they only want go to the next house."

"Rook, what are you trying to say."

"Nothing. But I had to say it. Everybody can make their own deductions. I'm gonna go and grab Sarah Perkins."

"You do that Rook. And be careful."

"You too."

 

Rook gets all the weapons and gear he asks for, suspiciously easily. He suspects people want him to go away after that friendly wake up call, and honestly? Everybody can fuck themselves, the Center would be still under That Man's control if not for Rook.

But he is getting sick of the stares, and anyway, he is not the type to kick up a fuss about things like that. It does stings though. He wanted to lay low here for a few days, at least until his more serious injuries started to heal, but apparently that is not an option.

He tries to console himself that at least he'll manage to meet up with Doctor Perkins before noon.

  
The Doctor is distinctly unimpressed with his state and even before he could get a polite greeting out she starts herding him into the mobile lab, "for a quick check up".  
"I thought you were a vetenarian, Doc," he says, in an awkward form of objection, but he still dutifully follows her commands about what to take off and how deep to breathe.  
"Rook, I know I get pretty involved in my research about the Judges, but did you honestly think that if you show up here like this I won't say anything?"  
She doesn't motion at his torso, at the patchwork of wounds and bruises and his too prominent bones. She doesn't needs to.

"There are more important things to worry about though?" Rook is unbalanced enough that it comes out more of a question than an objection, and a small smile hides in the corner of his mouth, too weak and worn, but it is something.

The first smile since That Man.

"Putting aside the fact that you're apparently a one man army and that the "resistance" doesn't do anything if you're not there - you helped me. And saved me before that. Of course I care."

As she is the first to feel like this, Rook feels justified in his absolute surprise and turns to blankly stare at the chemical formulas written on the walls, just to try and hide his inner turmoil. "So, remember when you said that the cult might try out it's Judge making process on more than wolves?"

"Yeah...?"

"Apparently the Judge Moose isn't the craziest thing they could think of. What do you think we should call a Human Judge?"

He tries to say it like a joke, but his voice falls flat and his teeth grind together from the effort to hold everything inside.

It's the soft way she says "Rook..." and that bone deep horror and sadness in her voice is what makes it too much; he hops down from the silver examining table and hastily starts to put his shirt back on. Suddenly it's unbearable, the thought of her seeing the litany of violence That Man left behind written into his skin.

It feels like something dirty, something that will sully not just him, that's part of the course, but it will infect anyone who sees it with it's inner rot.

"Today a guy tried to wake me up because Eli was waiting on the radio for me, and he leaned over me while I was sleeping. I almost killed him." The confession feels like it punches out of him, with a gasp of breath and too loud voice. "I keep imagining his voice, praising and berating me."

Only when Sarah puts a glass of water into his hand does he realise that he is done with his buttons and was just blankly staring at his hands. They are trembling slightly, the bones jutting out and the too thin skin is scattered with small, healing wounds.

"I really hope you can help those wolves, Doc," he says in the end, voice soft. "I don't want to end up having to be put down."

 

After that light hearted and cheerful chat, Sarah understandably wants to stay and start to franatically (more franatically than before apparently) search for some not yet found miracle cure, that is surely just waiting for them to discover it.

Rook is a lot less optimistic and the thing (not zombie) is clearly the more pressing problem, but he still has to practically beg for her to go and see the body. She concedes in the end, that if there is a new disease that causes internal rotting, then she should take a look at it, and agrees to enlist Tweak's help if anything comes up.

  
After that, there is no clear objective for Rook to complete.

He goes to have a talk with Tweak, who is not that upset about being conscripted to work with fairly dangerous and really advanced chemicals. He even swears to stay clean while he is working, which is... something.

He helps some civillians who are harassed by cult members on the edge of the road, but it's meaningless. Purposeless.

It feels as if he has too much energy trapped under his skin, and in the end he ditches the car at Miss. Mable's house and with Peaches in tow they continue on foot. His backpack has enough provisions to last him roughly a week, and with a last glance at the road they do what they do best.

They blend in the shadows and they hunt.

 

"It's just a shame that our world had to end, for us to be able to find some of the most amazing things in the universe. A damn shame."

It's nearing midnight and Rook is on a deer stand, looking up at the stars between the leaves. Peaches and him had a fairly productive day in the end. They tracked down four wandering angels and dispatched them, and then the fifth actually lead them to an abandoned garage that was crawling with the things.

The ensuring cat and mouse between the six angles and Peaches and him with his bow was enought to tire and statisfy both of them. As soon as Rook found the moderatively hidden tree stand, it didn't take Peaches more than two minutes to make her way up there, and then fall asleep in a way that meant that if Rook tried to do literally anything she was always somehow in the way.

And when Rook lit up the "oregano" he liberated from the hidden garage stash, she had the nerve to scream at him with indignation in her hoarse voice until he scooted over to the edge and smoked downwind from her.

To be fair, after he finished and got into his sleeping bag, she immediately curled up around his head like a giant, furry pillow, and has been purring like a car engine since.

"Society and it's norms got demolished by a controlling, sadistic, uncaring, egoistical, sanctimonious..."

Oh, he could do this all night.

"So, a cult tries to take over the county, and wants to make everyone believe in their weird, sado-masichist religion, and judging by their actions they want to do this through the power of... fear and torture, mostly. Alternatively they are pretty okay with the painful death of every non-believer too."

Rook never understood religion, any religion, and Eden's Gate's take on it is admittedly pretty weird, even for a cult.

Not that he has any problems with religious people! As long as they do it at home, where no one have to see it, he is totally fine with religious folks.

The thought makes him laugh hard enough that he has to take his finger off the radio button, before he somehow manages to break it.

"And while all this is going on, I managed to befriend a mountain lion. We spent the day hunting in silence, striking from the shadows, in total sync. It was magical."

He reaches up to pet his (probably) actual best friend, and though her fur is coarse under his fingers, it feels like home and safety too.

"And now I'm watching the stars, I'm high, and there is a purring 121 lbs cougar under my head."

He smiles up the stars.

"How is that for an apocalypse?"

"It is good to know that you can still find beauty in the world, even after all you've done."

He didn't expect a reply.

The whole rambling about nothing into the radio was a spur of the moment thing; he smoked his cig to dampen the constant howling chaos that his brain has become after That Man, and he started talking because he felt the need to share his (for a change) fairly sanguine thoughts with the universe.

Well, in for a penny...

"After all I've done? I've done a lot of things. That's true. A lot of things has been done to me as well." He pushes his head more firmly into Peaches' belly, trying to controll his thoughts. Now that he knows he actually has an audience, it seems much harder to form the words. "It's part of the collective human experience. All we can do is try to stay standing and keep on walking."

The noises of the forest seems to become louder, now that he is intently concentrating, waiting for a reply. Thanks to his earlier ramblings, animals steer clear from them, but in the middle of the night, in late June?  
The forests of Montana are full with the sound of life.

"There is a stark difference between these thoughts and how you hold and present yourself in your day to day life." And now, now that the first shock wore off, now he can really appreciate this voice, how it makes him close his eyes, just to fully enjoy the way the man forms his words. "I wonder, are they only the product of the narcotics you've put inside yourself?"

Oh gods.

This man is either flirting with him right of the bat, or he is not aware how he sounds, at all.

"This was just some cannabis, not something strong, don't you worry. My thoughts are my own and I'd never do anything to artifically change that."

**~~Good. Cull the herd.~~ **

"Never. Never if I have any choice in the matter." Althought his voice is quietter in the end, the steel in it is easy to hear. "However, I'm willing to admit, me talking to an uncaring universe, or what I thought was an uncaring universe, is probably the weed's fault."

The wait for the answer gets long enough that his eyes start to get harder and harder to keep open. He almost convinces himself to just turn the radio off for the night, when the thing comes alive in his hand once again.

"And what would you do if you don't have any choice in the matter?" His conversation partner speaks quieter too, that unique voice is thoughtful and filled with hidden meanings. "If something took root inside you, inside your thoughts, and started to change you, and you'd have no way of stopping it, even if you are still aware that you didn't want, didn't choose this?"

The question pushes the sleepiness away instantly, and Rook stares up at the sky, suddenly keenly feeling it's wastness and uncaring nature.

"First I'd do everything in my power to escape the situation, up to and including gnawing off my own leg, as the proverbial wolf did..." he falls silent for a moment, to draw the sleeping bag tighter around himself. It doesn't help the cold that seem to chill him from the inside, but it's a comfort. "And if I really couldn't do anything to change the situation, I think I would rather destroy myself."

"You are talking about suicide. Ending your own life? You don't know what this change, this controlling power really is; maybe it does what it does for your own sake."

"No." His voice is cold and hard with certainty, and the last warm feelings that were lingering from the marijuana are gone from the truth in his words. "No. If I'm aware that someone or something is trying to change me, my thoughts, and I know I can't escape, then I would gladly choose death. If your only option is choosing death as a free person, as yourself, or letting yourself be deformed under this outside influence; then for me death is the only choice. Even if there was some kind of 100% sure guarantee that the person I'd be after this change would be happy; it wouldn't be me and it wouldn't be free."

It's hard to say all this clearly, in a level voice while his brain is full with, screaming with-

**ONLY YOU ONLY YOU ONLY YOU ONLY YOU ONLY YOU ONLY YOU ONLY YOU ONLY YOU**

The knowledge that this might be what is in his future is a frightening possibility. Curiously, after saying these words he feels calmer and it only takes him a moment to realize why; he finally knows his options and the panicky uncertainty that raged inside his head since That Man, finally slows down.

"You are profoundly different from what I thought about you," his partner tells him, and the words are gently chiding, as if Rook deliberatedly misled him about his own character. His voice though sounds a bit breathless, full of surprise and delight maybe. "I'm glad you shared your thoughts on this with me Rook, and I thank you for your honesty. It's clear that you are fully decided on this. I'll have to consider your words further."

"What would you do?" The question is a surprise for Rook, even though he himself asks it; he only wanted to say his own thanks in turn for the enjoyable company and then bid him goodnight. Now though, that the quiestion got voiced he is very interested in the answer. "What would you do in a situation like that?"

The answer is almost a whisper.

"I stayed on my feet and kept on walking."


End file.
